It Begins
“Just calm yourself,”Ā Josiah Smith grit his teeth. This greenhorn was going to be the death of him.Ā “No one knows what we’ve done.”
“No one knows right now,” replied Marcus Jones. “Everyone will know tomorrow when the chest is opened and the payroll isn’t in it.”
“And we will be in that crowd, just as surprised and outraged as the rest of the company,” Sergeant Smith replied. “Right now, we are miles away, in the opposite direction from where they saw us leave. No one is here except us, a few of bears and some noisy foxes.”
“What if the bear gets into the bags?”
“Even if a bear could open this bag, why would it want to?” Smith shook the bag of gold coins. “Bears don’t eat payroll.”
“Let’s just get this done and head back to Bennington before we’re missed” Jones looked around nervously.
The two conspirators pried open the basement door and entered the dank space. There wasn’t enough room for either man to fully stand on the uneven packed-earth floor. The dim lantern only lit a couple of feet in front of them, so they could only hear the scratching of the rodents who managed to stay out of the illuminated circle.
“Who owns this farm?” Marcus was getting twitchy. “What if they return?”
“This is the farm of Major Williams,” Josiah replied. “Who is currently in Bennington with the rest of the company.”
At the far end of the space, they found a few loose stones in the dry-stacked foundation and pried them away, exposing the dirt underneath. The damp Vermont soil was rocky and tough to dig, but the hole didn’t need to be very large – just the size of three loaves of the stale militia bread everyone hated. The bags of gold fit perfectly, and once the dirt and stones were replaced, no one would be any wiser.
Emerging into the cool night, Josiah Smith took a deep breath of fresh air. He stretched out the crick in his back and turned into the blast of Marcus Jones’s militia-issued rifle.
Marcus Jones sped back to camp, ready to be surprised when the honorable Josiah Smith, hero of the Battle of Bennington, was accused of disappearing with the soldiers’ payroll in the middle of the night.
## 250 years later ##
“Vermont Department of Liquor Control, thanks for holding,” a pleasant, lilting voice said. “How can I help you?”
“I think there might be a problem with my liquor license,” Madeline replied. “The organization’s name is Longhorn Hospitality, LLC.”
“Let’s see.” The Pleasant Lady began humming an indistinct song.
I can’t believe this, thought Madeline. The realtor said this would be a piece of cake, practically automatic. Sign the closing documents and the license would be waiting. Spoiler alert: this was not the only lie the realtor told.
“OK. I’ve got you here… the application appears to be complete, we have received your fees- what seems to be the problem?”
“The problem is that there are 200 people coming here for a wedding in 48 hours and I don’t have a liquor license,.” Madeline was trying to remain calm. “Was it supposed to come in the mail or something?” Shit – she just remembered that she didn’t have an official PO Box yet.
“Hmmmm.” Madeline heard papers shuffling in the background. “It looks like you are a new owner. How long have you owned the property?”
“Six hours,” Madeline sighed.
“Six hours?” The voice gasped. “Of course you don’t have the license! We still need to inspect the property, do a background check on you and any other principal owners-“
“You don’t understand,” Madeline tried to speak through the lump in her throat. “I have only lived in Vermont for twenty-four hours. My car has already burst into flames, my septic system seems to be shot, I don’t know how to turn on the heater-which I didn’t realize would be a problem in September-someone came and took my propane tank away, my husband just went back to Austin, I can’t find any coffee, and if I have to tell a bride that I’ve never met that she can’t have any alcohol at the Vermont barn wedding of her childhood dreams, I might just die. Please. Help. Me.”
“Well you’ve had a day, haven’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Hang on a sec.” Pleasant Lady still sounded pleasant.
Madeline switched the phone into her other hand and continued the search for coffee in the large, unfamiliar kitchen. She noticed what looked like a Zodiac constellation of spaghetti sauce splats – maybe Virgo? – on the ceiling. What insanity had she willingly flung herself into?
And why is everything sticky? she thought. Never mind. I don’t want to know.
The inn had been mostly sitting idle for two years as the former owners made plans to retire. They would schedule a few weddings here and there to pay the bills and then spent the rest of their time in Costa Rica, leaving the care and maintenance of the buildings in the hands of an overbooked wedding coordinator and an equally overwhelmed handyman. But the revenue from the three upcoming weddings should help pay to repair the septic system, so Madeline chose to see these previously scheduled events as a beneficial windfall rather than a terrifying avalanche of panic and despair.
Twelve guest rooms, five buildings, fifteen acres, and a pond. It seemed so easy in the real estate listing: “Charming Vermont Country Inn for Sale! Just 15 minutes west of the bustling town of Brattleboro, and twenty minutes east of some of the best skiing in the area. Wedding business already booked through next year. Furnishing and fixtures included. Sellers are very motivated-all you have to do is simply move in and enjoy the good life!”
Ha! There had been nothing simple yet. The closing had almost been cancelled because of the issue with the septic system, and the seller-who had seemed so desperate to leave-wasn’t actually completely packed and begged to stay for “just one more night.” She desperately needed an electrician and the coffee was decidedly lost. And then there was the issue with the liquor license.
The building inspection report alone should have scared them away. Built in 1769, the property had been a dairy farm and maple syrup producer for the better part of 200 years. Now there was dry rot galore. A septic system so neglected that… well, best not think about it. Antique wiring. Peeling paint. Needed siding. The carriage house floors were Wonka-esque, with a definite tilt that discourages drunken bathroom trips in the dark. Or at least makes them more interesting. But the foundation of the main house was good and the roofline was straight, which was the most important thing ā at least according to the realtor.
“The problems aren’t that bad,” Michael had said. “We can do a lot of the work ourselves. We have a decent financial cushion and I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time. You and Taylor are gonna have a great time discovering all kinds of neat things while you’re here without me. This is the dream, remember?”
Uh huh. Living the dream.
“Ok, here is what we’re going to do,” Pleasant Lady was back, and had added soothing to her tone. “I’ll send one of our inspectors down there first thing in the morning. He will inspect the bar, do an interview with you, and unless you have two heads or admit to a felony conviction, he will award you a provisional license until we can do the formal background check. Which should only take a few days.”
“Are you serious?” Madeline didn’t want to breathe in case she hadn’t heard correctly. “You can just do that? This would have taken weeks back in Texas.”
“Of course we can, dear,” Pleasant Lady said, “we are Vermonters. We adapt, improvise, and overcome.”
“I thought that was the Marines?” Madeline replied.
“They got it from us.” There was a wink in Pleasant Lady’s voice.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Madeline said. “Seriously-I just am so… I have another wedding next week. And then another…”
“That’s my job,” Pleasant Lady replied. “I hope the rest of your day gets a whole lot better.”
“Thank you,” Madeline said. “One more thing: do you know a good septic company?”
“Oh, honey.”
Madeline looked at the counter– the coffee was right where it was supposed to be. Oh honey is right,Ā she thought.Ā Eight hours in and I’m already one step away from Shining-level crazy.